


You're drunk

by dabs_into_oblivion



Series: gendrya [8]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 11:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabs_into_oblivion/pseuds/dabs_into_oblivion
Summary: Reworking of that scene from 8x04.





	You're drunk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inspireland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspireland/gifts).



> arya needs to stop running from things ffs

* * *

"Don't shoot," he says, as though that would stop her. It's too dark to see him from this far away, but he's coming closer, anyway.

"It's nighttime, it's freezing, everyone's celebrating," he says, walking to her, quickly, breathing hard. "You should be celebrating too."

She nocks another arrow. "I am celebrating," she says, drawing her bow, loosing the arrow.

He makes a sound that could be a laugh or a sigh. "I am too." He's looking at her, she can feel it. What does he want? Surely not just another fuck.

"I'm not Gendry Rivers, anymore," he says, and she turns her head. "I'm Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, by order of the Queen." His voice is lower, more serious, but she can smell the ale on him, and she senses desperation. What are you doing, Gendry? Wait until you're sober.

She looks at him with the almost-smile that she always seems to have around him. "Congratulations." She means it. She just doesn't expect him to kiss her, there, where people might see. Not that she cares, but -- oh. He's pulled away, and he's so close to her face, and he's talking.

"I don't know how to be lord of anything, I hardly know how to use a fork. All I know is that you're beautiful and I love you and none of it will be worth anything if you're not with me."

She'll go with him, she'd follow him to the end of the world. He was the one who pushed her away, before, when they were with the Brotherhood. Does he really want her now? Does he want the cold assassin she's become?

"So be with me."

Oh, that's what he means. Her face falls, slowly, and he doesn't notice, because he's busy kneeling. "Be my wife. Be the lady of Storm's End." He notices, then, and his own smile drops from his face. Maybe he thinks she's shocked, maybe he thinks she's happy, she can't tell. All she can think is  _what is he doing?_

He's on his knee in the dirt. He's on his fucking knee in the fucking dirt, and she's wondering where she went wrong, how she gave him the impression that she wanted this life that he's offering her. Does she owe him an explanation?

She bends down, puts her hands on his face, kisses him. He tastes of ale and smoke and very faintly of salt. How long was he looking for her, she wonders before she pulls away.

"Gendry," she says, "what did I tell you, the last night we were together before the red woman took you?"

He frowns. "You said we could be family."

She nods. "And you said no, I'd always be your lady."

Something dawns on him then, an understanding, a realization. "You hated that. You didn't want to be anyone's lady."

Even drunk, he's not so stupid as she once thought. "No, I didn't." She looks at him, waits for him to connect the rest of the dots.

When he speaks, his voice is resigned. "You still don't."

She moves, then, presses herself against him, into him, into his hot, sweaty hands. "I know you don't want any bastard children," she whispers into his ear, "and you don't know how to be a lord. I know you care what they say, what they'll say if I, a lady of Winterfell, marry a bastard. But I don't care. If you want me to be your lady, I'll go to King's Landing tonight and never return. But if you let me be myself, I'll wed you tomorrow."

He pulls her head back so he can look at her. "Would you go to Storm's End with me?"

She thinks. Sansa has Brienne; Jon has Daenerys and her dragons; Bran has his visions. None of them really need her. "I would, and I'd help you rule, as long as I don't have to wear a dress or sit and watch while you do things. I'm not good at sitting still."

"I would never make you do that," he whispers, and she kisses him again, and maybe, impossibly, after everything, they're going to be all right.


End file.
